


Father's Day

by sammichgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Father's Day, Gen, Weechesters, classroom crafting, summer fun promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/pseuds/sammichgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a message for his dad, and Dean's gonna hold him to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

If Mother’s Day had been hard on Sam during craft time, it was nothing compared to Father’s Day, nearly a month later.  With his mom, he had no memories.  He had ideals and Dean’s rarely spoken words about her.  It was easy to create something he thought she’d like; he’d just followed the other kids’ leads and added angel wings to her stick figure.  Emotion played a small part, but sadly that was only due to him crying when Dean had cried that Sunday first; when Sam had pulled out the card at breakfast and given it to Dad, not knowing who else to give it to.

Making a card for his dad though.  He had thoughts and memories of him.  Of things they’d done together, of things he wished for.  How to recreate that on paper, he had nowhere to start.

He sat in his first grade class, confused expression on his face.  He had all the supplies, and understood the assignment.  But he wanted more than something to give his dad he would barely glance at.  And they didn’t even have a refrigerator like Brandon’s family did to hang stuff like that on.  In fact, they’d be moving on soon he was sure, him and dad and Dean.  School year almost over, they’d likely head to Uncle Bobby’s or Pastor Jim’s for a few weeks – they’d be somewhere else by the time Father’s Day came. 

Brow furrowed in concentration, he bit his pouty lower lip and got to work.  The teacher watched him, wan smile on her face, knowing he was from a family that moved around a lot, wondering what was going through his mind.  She knew too, that Sam’s big brother looked out for him, that they were both latchkey kids, their dad always traveling for work.  It made her wonder what kind of card he’d make for his father.  Sam was smart and determined, and she knew it would have deeper meaning than most of the cards the class would be taking home. 

When the class had finished, Sam Winchester’s card looked nothing like the rest of them.  It was three times as big, had construction paper folded spring loaders that allowed cutouts to dance inside when opened.  It was well crafted, and had heart and soul put into it. 

Dean had laughed in amusement when he walked Sam home to their motel, the giant card skipping along the dirt road as he tried to keep it from getting torn up or letting Dean see inside.  Dad would be home that night, and it was early but Sam was going to give him the card anyway, so it wouldn’t get lost before they packed up the Impala and moved on.

After a dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese and meatloaf, the boys watched TV while their dad spread out research on what passed for a dinette.  Sam waited until his dad sighed, putting his hands on his head, reaching for the ever present Hunter’s Helper. 

He walked over to the dinette and pulled the card from alongside the couch.  He glanced at Dean, who nodded in encouragement, and laid a hand on his father’s shoulder.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“Made you something.”

John heard the softness in Sam’s voice, and turned to look at his young son.  Sam’s smile lit up his face, his dimples shining, and John could see himself reflected in those sweet hazel eyes.  They shared the same smile, the dimples, and Sam had learned to work them as well as John had when he was little. 

John ruffled Sam’s hair and leaned back in the chair.  “What is it, kiddo?”

Sam laid the large card across the various open books and leather bound journal that littered the dinette.  John looked at it, taking it all in, realizing it was for Father’s Day.

“You don’t want to wait a couple weeks, Sammy?”  His eyes had taken on a soft, worn look, the lines of his face smoothing out as he allowed himself to relax.

“No dad.  Open it now, ok?”  Sam fidgeted where he stood, wanting his dad to take a few minutes and be with him and Dean. 

John looked between Sam and then Dean, going back to the card.  He pulled Sam onto his knee, so Sam could rest against his chest.  Dean came over to stand next to them both, and John opened the card.

Out popped cutouts of John and Dean and Sam.  There was an old fishing boat rocking in deep blue water-colored waves.  Further examination showed what looked like the back of Pastor Jim’s backyard –the pier and the dock to the lake made of popsicle sticks.  John and Sam were in the boat, and Dean was cannon-balling off the pier into the water.  The crayon yellow sun was shining, and there were white puffy clouds made out of cotton balls.

John smiled, hugged Sam, and pulled Dean in to join them.  “Ok, Sammy.  I get it.  How about we take some R&R at Pastor Jim’s after school lets out for a few weeks?  We can swim and fish and I’ll teach you boys how to camp and cook under the stars.”

Sam’s eyes glistened, his cheeks pink with excitement.  “Yeah dad, yeah!”

John looked over to Dean, who was wary, having heard promises that often were broken.  “I mean it, Dean.  We’ll take a short vacation before we move on, ok?”  Dean looked at Sammy, and there was no way he was going to let Dad out of this one, though he kept that thought to himself.

“Yeah dad, ok.”

When John had seen his boys to bed, checking the salt lines around the windows and the bedroom door, he shut off the light and watched them snuffle softly until they’d fallen asleep, turned to each other as always.  He loved his boys.  Sometimes he got sidetracked, the mission always calling to him.  But he needed to remember what he was fighting for.  And it wasn’t just for Mary’s sake. 

He picked up the phone and made the call, committing before he let himself get distracted.  Several rings and then, “Hey Jim?  John Winchester here.  What would you say to some visitors in a few weeks?”

**Author's Note:**

> Moving all my tumblr stories to an AO3 collection for safekeeping. These are older stories, beware. Mix of wincest, weecest, weechesters, J2 RPF, J2, AU, bits and pieces of other things.


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